Antipathy
by hannahloveserik
Summary: Modern. When Christine's dying father leaves her deep in debt, she turns to a creature who has created whispers on the streets, hoping desperately that he can help her.
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome to Antipathy._

_ I hope you enjoy this story and let me know what you think of it by reviewing._

* * *

It was the coldest January she could remember, full of tightened scarves, toasty gloves and warm hats.

"Christine!" Someone shouted, and she smiled knowing it was Raoul.

"Hey," she greeted softly, waving and sniffling in the cold.

"Good morning, sleepy head!" He chuckled, kissing her woollen hat and opening the door for her to step inside the musty cafe.

The windows were steamed up and the place was almost empty. The floor was tiled and the chairs were like deck chairs that had been haphazardly thrown around the room in odd places. The waiter was a boy who must have been no older than fourteen and his dad had hollered across the room to find out what Christine and Raoul had wanted.

Once sat down and warmed up with a cup of hot chocolate, Christine gazed at Raoul. "So, what's up?"

"Well..." He shifted slightly and Christine's hand instantly went to the ring on her right hand, twisting it - a habit she had developed when she was nervous. "My moms coming down for a few days and she's bringing my sister, Kathryn. Remember you met them a while ago?"

A lump of ice slid into Christine's belly. "Yeah. I remember." She also remembered their faces when Raoul had introduced her to them. They looked her up and down, his sister bit her lip to stop herself from laughing and his mother had pried her lips up for the slightest second in what Christine supposed was a smile.

"Well anyway, they're coming down and they want you to see you too. I think on one of the days they're going to a spa or something and they asked me to invite you along too." He reached across the table and took her hand. "Will you go?"

Lamely Christine tried to make up an excuse, "I dunno, Raoul. If works this busy then no, I mean I've got so much going on as well, what with my exams approaching and everything."

School was a touchy subject for both of the pair. Christine had turned eighteen a few months earlier, whereas Raoul was twenty one. Having being childhood sweethearts, they had disregarded age completely until Christine had mentioned school work and exams.

"Huh, yeah." He scratched a small patch on his head. "I mean I forget that you have school and things. Surely you could just miss for one day? And I'll even ask my mom to arrange for it to be later on. Please, Christine?"

How could she refuse him when he looked at her with those eyes!

"Fine," she sighed, feeling flustered and slightly annoyed. "But no promises, so don't go back and tell your mother it's a definite yes from me."

"Thanks babe," he said grinning and shifting back into his seat, starting to eat the pop tart he had ordered.

"God," Christine groaned to herself, running a hand over her face. She was so tired lately. "I have to have that stupid essay for English ready by tomorrow, and I haven't even started."

"Maybe I could help?" Raoul offered.

She snorted and took her hands away from her eyes, enjoying the multicoloured spots dance before her. "_You_ helping _me_ with English?" She laughed, "the only thing you're good at it sport."

He pouted then chuckled. "I'll have you know, I'm very good at other stuff too..." Choosing to ignore the innuendo, (as Raoul knew it was a touchy subject for her) she carried on her list. "And then after that I have to make some dinner and take it to the hospital. Y'know the doctors won't allow me to stay with him over night any more. It's so stupid."

"I know, babe," Raoul said, before calling the waiter over and handing him the money and grabbing Christine's hand. "But I mean, the doctors know best, right? And maybe they're doing it for your sake too."

"What do you mean?" She asked, pushing open the door and automatically pulling her coat tighter.

"Well," Raoul began, tucking her into his side as they started to walk, "maybe at night he might get bad, and they don't want you to see him like that."

"He's my father, Raoul. It's been me and him for years, I've seen him in some pretty bad states." The silence drifted on for a moment too long and became awkward.

He shrugged, "I'm just guessing. Anyway how would I know, I'm just an old man."

She smiled a little, "yeah, cradle snatcher."

He snorted and leaned down for a kiss to which she happily gave. "Love you, Chris."

"See you." She had never said those three words back to him. Never. It wasn't that she didn't love him, she was sure that a part of her must, it was just that she wanted to wait so she knew she was sure. She knew without a doubt Raoul loved her, and he had done since they were little, he just threw the word around and it made it lose meaning and speciality.

Remembering that she was standing outside her apartment and probably had been for the past five minutes, she shook her head and entered.

* * *

"Hej, pappa." Christine spoke softly as she opened the thick, wooden hospital doors. "How are you?"

The pale man laying on the bed shifted and cracked an eye open. He gave her a feeble smile and and pointed to the chair next to his bed. Christine missed her old pappa, although that seemed incredibly unfair and childish. She missed his curly blonde hair and his dark brown eyes that would seem to be always gazing at her proudly.

"Christine, mitt barn." He smiled again raising a thin, wrinkled hand.

"I'm hardly a baby anymore, pappa." She smiled, replying in Swedish, grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to it. "I miss you, pappa." She said, placing his palm against her cheek. "I miss you around the house and I miss your playing."

He chuckled softly before saying, "I bet you don't miss the mornings I had to get you up for school." She laughed heartily then, thrilled that her pappa was trying to make her smile. Wiping away the tears, she sniffled and looked around the room. "Christine," her father wheezed, snapping her from her thoughts. "I want you to audition for the opera house."

She was momentarily lost for words. She had already started to imagine it - which was a bad sign."I can't pappa, what about keeping on top of my school work and my job? Those bills do have to get paid, y'know." She added lightly. In actual fact however, she was behind on the bills and had no money. Her father had needed thousands spent on his treatment and she had nothing to use for the household bills.

"Please, Christine. Do it for me. Do it for your moder." And just like that, he had her wrapped around his little finger. Sighing, she nodded. It wasn't that she didn't want to do it, she did! It was just that she had always had to put music last. Since her moder had died, she had had to put her father first and everything else would just slot around him. Singing was a big dream of hers; she was sure that it was a lot of peoples. She had just never gotten the time to pursue that dream. Maybe she would audition, for her pappa, and then if she didn't get in, then she could shrug and say she tried.

First of all, she needed to get some money...and fast!


	2. Chapter 2

_Reviews are greatly appreciated._

* * *

"Are you okay? You've been really out of it this week," Raoul asked, flipping over the pancake he was making for Christine.

"Huh?" Her gaze drifted over to his as he raised an eyebrow. "Yeah! I'm fine! I mean I'm just worried, I suppose."

Raoul turned off the gas and made his way around the breakfast bar to her. "What's on your mind, chica?" Putting on a falsetto Spanish accent, he put his arms around her waist and she felt butterflies begin to choke her again.

"I guess I'm just worried about my dad," she said, knowing that it was partly the truth. She had tossed and turned all night, wondering whether to ask Raoul or not and had decided against it. It was another thing his mother could hold against her because she knew that Raoul couldn't keep a secret from his mother.

"He wants me to audition for the opera house, you know," she said as Raoul put a pancake in front of her.

"And are you going to?"

"I don't know," she scowled, stabbing the pancake with her fork. "I want to, for my father, but I know I won't be accepted and it would just be a waste of time."

"Well it's up to you, but you've had no training, have you? So I mean, maybe it would be a waste of time. My brother goes to the operas and I think he once sat in a group of auditions and, uh, he says that you have to be crazy talented to get in."

So Raoul didn't think she was good enough. She could hardly blame him, she really hadn't had training. But she would do it, for her pappa.

"Anyway, I've got to go," she told him, putting on her coat. "I'm going the hospital first just to see how my pappa is and then I'm off to work. Carl said he'd murder me if I was late again."

"Do you need a lift home? I can pick you up, if you want?"

"No, I'm good. I'm going back to the flat to check the mail and stuff."

"Okay, babe. I love you."

Giving him a kiss, which he then firmly grabbed hold of her again and kissed her intensely, she waved goodbye.

* * *

"So, um, Carl. Look, I know I've asked before and you've said I can't have a rise, but I was just wondering if there's any extra things that need doing around here that could give me a little more cash?" And that was how Christine found herself cleaning work tops and practically begging her boss to give her a pay rise.

Carl was nice; not _sweet_ nice, more like the type of nice that hates you for months then helps you get through a panic attack in his kitchen when you find out your father is terminally ill.

He was tall, possibly the tallest man she had ever seen, with reddish hair cropped short and a sleeve full of tattoos. There was a gap between his teeth and one of them was gold. He reminded her of a cowboy from the carry on films and strangely, spoke like one.

"Kid, listen, I know you been 'gon through some hard times, but I ain't got no money to spare. I gotta keep this pub alive, y'know." He said from behind the bar. "When I've won the lottery, kid, I'll take you somewhere nice. Somewhere hot, your skin is as white as my ass."

"It's fine, I get it. You're too kind Carl." She took off her apron and put the cleaning rag on the counter top. "See you tomorrow."

She began to walk out before she head her name being called.

"Christine, look. C'mere," he hooked a finger and gestured to come closer. "I knows this creature 'n he gives money out like he owns it all. You could go 'n see him, but he's deadly." Her heart was pounding in her chest as she walked towards the bar. "They call him Shadow 'cause nobody's ever seen his face. An' well- if they had then..." He made a slitting gesture across his throat.

"Where can I find him?" Christine almost demanded, her throat suddenly dry.

"I hear he been doin' business 'round back," he pointed a large thumb towards the back of the pub.

"Do you mind?" She asked, confused by his threats of deadliness and then confessing that the same man - no, _**thing**_ had been doing business at the back of his pub.

"Oh hella yeah! _Course_ I mind! But I'd rather be alive an' mind, than not be here at all."

"Do you think he'll be there now?" Christine said, eyes popping out of her head.

"Maybe, but listen kid, here's some spare stuff I have left in the till," he thrust a small wad of bills into her hand. "I hope you get what you need, babe."

"Yeah, me too."

With a furrowed brow, her heart set with the dull throb of determination and her hood pulled up, she began to walk down the narrow alleyway behind the pub. It was quiet, empty and dark.

"Hello?" She whispered into the darkness, she could barely see. "Shadow, I need your help. Please. I'm begging you." After waiting ten minutes for any sort of answer, she turned around and began to leave.

From out of nowhere hands shot out; one clamping around her neck and the other over her lips.

A dark chuckle emitted from the shady character that held the human in his arms. "Who are you and how did you know I was here." It was no question, it was a firm demand. He made to move his hand from her mouth, before his voice was behind her, speaking through the walls, "do not scream," it was ice cold, "you would be dead before you could make the vowel."

Nodding her head, she helplessly waited for him to move his hand. "I-I'm C-Christine Daae, a-and I n-need your help."

The hand pushed her hood back and gripped her hair. "A woman." He hissed, and Christine saw golden lights twinkling as he looked at her. "No," he corrected himself, "a girl."

"P-please, you're h-hurting m-me," she begged, pulling against the hand fastened around her neck.

"What do you need?" The golden lights (which she realised must have been his eyes), constantly assessed her features, as he held her in a tight grip. _His_ face was covered by his hood, which seemed to emphasise the spookiness of the situation.

"I n-need s-s-,"

"Stop blubbering and tell me!"

"I-I need some m-money, if-if you would let me have some," she quickly added. "It's so I can pay off the bills, m-my pappa is terminally ill and-"

"I don't need your life story, girl." He snarled, his hands clenching a bit tighter, "how much do you want?"

"I only need a-a few hundred," she said hastily, nodding her head before choking. "I'll pay you it b-back straight away, I promise."

"No, I get double in return."

Christine felt the blood drain from her face, "I won't be able to pay you back double."

"Then you are useless to me." He dug his hand impossibly deeper into her flesh before releasing her, causing her to fall limply to the floor. Her vision was swimming as useless tears slid down her face, causing sudden sobs begin to emerge from her sore throat.

"Please, I'm begging." She cried, reaching a hand out before drawing it in when he turned around. Whether it be fate or a sudden, harsh coincidence, a street lamp turned on behind Christine and she saw his face. Yet it was no face, it was a mask.

And what a mask it was.

"That's right, little girl, cry in fear. I don't have time for your ridiculous behaviour." And with a flurry of cape, he had vanished, living up to his street name.


	3. Chapter 3

_Reviews are greatly appreciated._

* * *

She wasn't sure how long she had sat out there.

Long enough for it to start raining. Long enough for Carl to find her, pick her up and drive her home. Long enough for her heart to move up her chest and her lungs to snap, in the vicious circle of hopeless desperation.

She vaguely remembered Carl calling Raoul from her phone. Who within ten minutes arrived and swooped her into his arms and carried her up to her apartment and sent her to the bathroom to get a nice shower.

What she _could_ remember were the ugly bruises beginning to form around her neck and then she remembered everything bad that had happened to her and everything she couldn't do.

When Raoul had kicked the bathroom door in, Christine was curled up, asleep, wrapped in a towel.

The next few days she couldn't remember; she was sleeping or staring into space, until Raoul had finally lost his temper.

"What is it you want, Christine? Look, I know you're having a tough time and all, what with that freak strangling you, but I'm trying to help you, Christine."

She looked across to him and furrowed her brow, "what do you want me to be, Raoul?" Her voice was ice cold. "My father is dying and I was strangled by a mad man. So, I repeat, what do you want me to be?"

Normally at this point in an argument, Christine would begin to cry and say she was sorry or Raoul would realise that Christine has had a lot on her plate, but this time neither were backing down.

"You could be at least a little grateful." He stood up, grabbing his coat, "I'm not staying here any longer. You know Christine, you need to realise what you've got." And with that, he slammed her door and she began to cry; again.

* * *

"What's your name, dear?"

"Christine Daae, sir." She was standing on the stage in front of Mr Andre Moncharmin and Mr Firmin Richard, the brand new owners of the opera house.

"And what are you here to do for us today, Miss Daae?" The smaller one - Moncharmin said.

"I'm here to sing for you."

They both laughed and gushed, "we always need confident people like you, Miss Daae."

Confused for a moment, she realised they had meant the tone she used to phrase the sentence. A blush stained her cheeks and she quickly tried to back track.

"It's fine, we expect nothing but the best and the fact that you're confident about your voice only encourages us."

"But I'm not confident about my -"

"-Miss Daae, begin."

And she sang. It was a simple Swedish folk song, nothing special, but her pappa had loved it. Once it was done, she looked down at Moncharmin and Richard who were shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

_And she knew_.

"Well, dear that was...good, where did you train again?" Richard said.

"I haven't," she replied dully. "It's ok, I get it. I don't want to be part of it anyway."

As she pushed open the door, she heard one of them comment on her voice - something horrible she assumed, as they both started to laugh afterwards.

She began to leave, trying to remember where she had come from and how to get to the main door, when she heard music.

Not normal music: the type that makes your throat hum along and appreciate it. It was the type that makes your whole body burn and goosebumps appear on your skin and you're hot, cold, in love, filled with fury, and any other type of emotion the keys play.

Before she knew it, she was outside the room in which the playing was coming from. Popping the door open, she entered the room which held only a piano and a man.

His hands stilled on the piano, they were long and thin and Christine's bruises on her neck began to throb softly. Telling herself off for being stupid, she struck up conversation.

"You play beautifully."

"Thank you." His voice was like honey, rich and powerful yet completely melodious. "Now **you** must answer _me_ something. When did you start singing?"

Feeling strange that the man wouldn't turn around to speak to her, she began to draw further into the room and towards the piano. "Um, when I was about six or seven."

"I have a proposition for you, Christine Daae."

Freezing at the mention of her name, she was suddenly weary. "Have we met before?"

"I suppose so," he chuckled lightly.

Then he turned around and moved towards her.

"No." It was a breath. "You can't be here."

"Child, listen to me. I'm in no mood for another blubbering session."

She flung herself against the furthest door and began to panic, "what have you got left to say to me?" A sudden fear kicked in. "Are you going to kill me because I've seen that you wear a mask?"

He sighed and shook his head, the full black mask staying securely on his face. "No. You said you needed money, did you not?"

She nodded cautiously, her hand sliding down to turn the handle.

"How about this then: I pay your debts off, if you take singing lessons from me?"

"What if I say no?" She asked, powered by the fact she could open the door and scream anytime she wanted to.

"Well, your father is dying, isn't he? Gustave Daae, room 28, floor 4. Oh and it's the hospital down the road, is it not? Maybe deaths angel may come a little sooner than expected."

By this time, Christine had slid down the wall. "You wouldn't..." Her face was white and her whole body was shaking.

"So how about it then, girl? I pay your debts and you sing for me. Is it a deal?"

She nodded, which wasn't enough for him, so he made her write her name down on the corner of a piece of manuscript paper.

"Done," he laughed, grabbing his piano music. "Well, what are you still doing here? Go home."


	4. Chapter 4

_Reviews are greatly appreciated._

_I do not own POTO, unfortunately._

* * *

_Christine, please, I know we can work this out, you're my best friend as well as my girlfriend. I'm sorry for what I said...just call me back, yeah? I love you._

Christine listened to the fifth message that had been left from Raoul.

She didn't want to call him back. She didn't want to speak to him. She found her hand twisting her ring as she looked out of the hospital window.

"Christine," she heard her pappa murmur.

"Shh, pappa, I'm here." Grasping his wrinkled hand, she spoke to him softly as his temperature soared and sweat rose on his brow. Grabbing a cloth that had been left on the side in water, she rinsed it off and placed it on his head. "I'm sorry, pappa." She looked blankly at his face, which was frowning in a state of fevered delirium. "I didn't get in, pappa. I'm so sorry. I've failed you." The words turned into sobs and she began to climb onto the bed before remembering the tubes running throughout her fathers body.

She couldn't even hug her father any more.

She rested her head against the edge of the bed and quietly cried until a door was opened making Christine whirl around, wiping her eyes quickly.

"Hey," Raoul wiggled his fingers at her before shoving them into his pockets.

She turned back around on the chair and didn't reply.

"I know you're mad, Chrissie. I know. You have a right to be," he glanced at her neck and winced at the fading bruises there. "I was out of order, you've been going through a lot lately and I guess I just wanted you to show a bit more appreciation."

She sighed, deep and long. She was so- _so desperate_ for someone to be there for her. "It's ok, I guess. Will you, um..." She trailed off and looked to the ground, not knowing how to phrase her question.

Luckily though, Raoul knew and opened his arms slightly to which she stumbled into. Cradled in his arms, she felt him sit down and kiss her head softly. She cried and cried and cried until she could cry no more.

"Shall we order a pizza to be delivered to mine?" Raoul asked into her hair.

Momentarily debating whether to stay or go, Christine chose the latter as she couldn't bare to be alone for another minute.

* * *

The car ride was silent and although Christine was reflective and upset, she couldn't help but feel jittery- like she wanted to jump out of her skin.

"You okay?" A hand on her knee, made her legs still and she saw Raoul glance at her from the wheel. Taking a deep breath in to calm her shaking bones, her hand found her ring and she nodded, twisting it.

"See you later, yeah?" Raoul asked from the car window, leaning his head out to give her a soft kiss on the lips.

"Sure, thanks for the pizza." Christine said, beginning to make her way towards the apartment.

"Oh and Chris?" She heard Raoul shout behind her, "does this mean we're like, a thing again?"

Too tired to reply, she shrugged and shuffled into the grey building. Shutting the heavy oak door which blocked out the noise from the world outside, she felt her eyes begin to sting and her cheeks begin to burn.

And she broke.

Her father was dying and she couldn't do anything to help him. She couldn't even say 'I love you," back to her boyfriend because she was too afraid that he would go away too, and then she had a mad masked man wanting to teach her to sing when he week before he had crushed her throat in his palm.

"Crying will do no good for your vocal chords, stupid girl." It was sharp and crisp and clearly pronounced as _he_ stepped forward making himself visible.

Christine felt her heart begin to race and her breathing quicken.

"Do you need assistance up the stairs?" She heard his strangely beautiful voice ask but she could no longer see.

Feeling arms wrap around her, she was lifted up and collected into his chest. She was crying, thick tears coming down her cheeks as she began to clutch hold of the material on his chest. Something sharp dug into her cheek as he walked with her, she could only assume he had a gun or a knife stashed away in the material by his shoulder.

Eventually realising she was being carried by the _shadow_- a thing known for killing the people who couldn't pay him back, she protested loud and clear.

Like a switch, she was let go of and landed on the floor with a soft exhale of breath and a thump. Looking up at his mask - she shivered, and glared (as best as she could) at him.

"What was that for?"

Seeming genuinely confused for a moment, Christine felt an extreme triumph make her way up her stomach as she thought she had confused him.

"You told me to put you down." He had backed away into the corner and was looking at pointless things in her apartment.

Sliding up to the couch, she wiped her eyes with her hands and began to twist her ring.

_Busy, busy, busy_, the thought chanted in her head like the ticking of a clock.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" She found herself asking him as his eyes scoured the room. Shaking his head, she shrugged and went to put the kettle on. Upon arriving back, she found the hand filled with hot tea managed to lose grip and send the tea to the ground, the cheap cup smashing.

"What are you doing?" She screeched, her voice strangely off pitch.

He had his hands around the neck of her fathers beautiful violin. "You can't touch that."

He merely looked at the tea which was spreading on the floor like blood before carrying his gaze back up to her. "In a few months- _weeks_, even, it will never be played again...unless you play, which I highly doubt as the tips of your fingers appear too soft."

Taking a deep breath in and steeling her nerves she spoke clearly, "what are you doing here?"

Looking her over, and Christine was sure that if she could see his face it would be the picture of irritation, he sighed loudly. "I'm here to sort out your lesson."

"My what?" Her eyebrows creased and she squinted.

His patience was thin: it was the first thing she learnt about him. The first of the many strange things about him.

"Your singing lesson, my dear," it was dripping with sarcasm. "Did you think I had just called in for a cup of tea?"

Shaking her head slowly, he put a piece of paper on her table. "I want you to go to this address every day at three o'clock. If you are late then you will be punished." He slowly began to walk towards her and she felt herself shrink back. "Bring nothing but yourself. If I am not there when you arrive, make yourself useful and start warming up. I will see you on Monday." Standing up tall, his eyes gave her one last piercing gaze and she shivered.

And then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_reviews are greatly appreciated. I do not own Phantom of the opera, I'm just borrowing Leroux's __characters. _

* * *

Monday morning arrived, dark and cold. Wrapped up in a scarf Raoul had gotten her for Christmas and a coat that was too big for her, Christine made her way to the hospital.

"Good morning, pappa." Christine greeted. Replied with the steady beats of his heart, she flopped down into the chair next to him and grasped his clammy hand. "I'm confused, pappa. I have a singing lesson with a man. He's no ordinary man, though pappa, he wears a mask and has probably killed people! I know nothing about him and yet he expects me to go. I love you pappa, I just- I wish you could get better so I can have someone real to talk to. I'll go to these stupid singing lessons but only for us, pappa."

"For you, you mean."

Yelping in fear, Christine spun round on the chair to see **_him_** watching her.

"You're going to be late." Yellow eyes shone at her.

"I don't know where the building is." She whispered. In fact, she knew where it was- a nice country house in the middle of nowhere. She and her father used to drive past it and pretend it was theirs when she was younger.

"Then it is a good job I am here to take you, is it not?" His voice had a stern seriousness that worked powerfully as Christine nodded softly, gave her pappa a kiss and followed his silhouette out of the hospital doors and into a black car with tinted windows.

The journey was silent and Erik found his eyes looking at the girl in his car, twisting her damned ring around and around. Although she was clearly nothing special; eyes too big for her face and limp blonde hair, she was still a girl - a girl who _happened_ to be in his car. The thought made his lips twitch as he wondered what the Daroga would say.

"Why me?" He heard her whisper.

Glancing across to her, he forced himself to focus. "I've told you before. You have an instrument that is rather..._appealing_."

"Appealing? You have to be kidding, right?"

"With my training it can become wonderful."

"Fine," she said, "whe-"

"We're here." Erik interrupted, opening his door. Christine stumbled out of the other door and ran to catch up with him. The house was huge, ivy covering half of the building whilst the other half was a light brown stone. She glanced over to him and back to the house again, finding nothing in common between his dark persona and the mansion, which seemed to exude light. Trailing behind, she watched as he pulled out a set of keys and opened up the large oak doors.

She was greeted with a long corridor, accompanied by marble flooring that made her shoes squeak. Doors surrounded her, everyone of them closed. Except one. In the corner next to the open door - the music room, she assumed - stood a grand staircase which turned as it went upwards. A gold chandelier hung proudly in the centre of the corridor, light reflecting on the walls.

"In here."

His music room was magnificent. Every instrument imaginable covered the walls and a large, black grand piano sat proudly facing the door. Piles of manuscript paper were stacked together, some higher than others.

Sitting down at the piano and playing a chord, she snapped out of her admiration for the room. "Stand there." His hand gestured to the curve in the piano. "Now, I want you to breathe for me. Inhale...exhale - no! That is _completely_ wrong!"

"That's how I breathe."

"Not anymore," he replied. "Again."

And so she complied. After three attempts, he snapped.

"Are you absolutely deranged?" His voice was quiet and sharp. "Nonsensical? Obtuse? Slow?"

Christine felt her face flush a deep scarlet. "No." It was a whisper.

"Then breathe properly!" He shouted with anger, his hand curling into fists.

"I don't know how!" She cried, her legs beginning to buckle as she realised she had spoken back to him.

"Well then, you will have to learn."

* * *

Her first lesson consisted of breathing. He asked her if she had any past experiences working on stage and if she would like that in the future. Not really knowing what she wanted, Christine just shrugged and said that it sounded nice.

"We are done for today, Christine." His voice made her name sound beautiful and Christine felt goosebumps rise on her skin. "You will return on Wednesday at the same time. I trust that you now know where you are going and do not need me to come and find you. I will be rather angry and disappointed if you don't appear to Wednesdays lesson, and then I _will_ have to come and find you, won't I? And trust me, anyone who I have a deal with, say the worst thing that could happen to them is for me to come and find them."

"Wait!" She called him, as he made his way along the corridor. Turning so that his eyes were directly on her face, she steeled herself. "What should I call you? I mean I don't even know your name and it'd be nice to call you something other than The Shadow..." courage failed her, "but I mean I understand if you want to keep it a secret. It's like Magwitch in Great Expectations when he keeps his identity a secret...so, um, yeah." Realising she was babbling, she closed her mouth and locked it.

He seemed to genuinely think about this for a long moment before motioning her to walk to the front door with him. Once stepping outside, she realised he wasn't going to answer her and instead took her scarf off as the day had brightened considerably.

"Maestro." She heard him say.

And the door was shut in her face as she turned to say goodbye.


	6. Chapter 6

_If you review I love you. I will send you virtual hugs. Go on, do it!_

* * *

"Hey Carl," Christine sighed as she shut the door against the rattling wind.

"S'up princess?" He asked as he came out from behind the bar and saw her face. "Havin' problems with your boy, ey?"

Although Christine wanted to nod, she shook her head. "I think I might have to quit my job Carl! I'm so sorry - I love this place, i really do, it's just I haven't got the time anymore."

"Slow down a second," he began, taking her hand and pulling her towards a barstool. "Why would you even wanna leave this place?" He joked, but she saw the hurt flash through his face briefly.

"I - well my dad for one, they say it could be real soon and it's just getting too much for me -" she broke off, blinking against the burning in her eyes and swallowing the lump in her throat. "And two, my singing lessons; they go on every night except Fridays and Sundays."

"I didn't even know you sang, Christine." He said, before standing up and making his way behind the bar as a group of men entered the pub noisily. "Well, all I can say to you kid, is this: do what you have to do."

Smiling through the chaos of her head, Christine dashed around the bar and squeezed Carl tightly around the ribs. "Thanks, Carl. You always know the best things to say."

"Well, hey," he nudged her gently, "when you're famous I best had be able to get y'all in here once a week."

"Just give me a holler and I'll be there" she laughed weakly.

Sipping the last of her drink her eyes wandered over to the clock before letting out a squeak - and some soda - before covering her mouth with her palm and laughing with embarrassment.

"I have to go, Carl." Christine rushed, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you soon, right?"

"Sure, kid. I'll go say a prayer for yo daddy. Be safe, princess." And with that she left the bar, the warmth in her stomach slowly blooming to dread as she realised she was late.

* * *

"I'm sorry!" Christine cried as she ran towards the practice room in his house. "It won't happen again, I was just saying goodbye to some old -"

She broke off as she saw him standing next to an older man, in his late fifties. His skin was a light brown and his eyes were the strangest shade of green.

The older mans eyes went wide as he stared at Christine in shock, glancing at Erik and back again. When he realised he was going to get no response, he cursed. "What in Allah's name do you think you're doing, Erik? A girl, really?"

_Erik_? Was that _**his**_ name? Erik. In some strange way, she had never wanted to find out his name as it made him seem so much more human. It made him seem real.

To Christine's surprise, Erik didn't fly off into a rage and kill the man, he merely laughed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Khan."

"Hello, dear," he slowly held out his hand. "My name is Nadir Khan. May I ask what yours is?"

Shaking it, Christine told him her name, before taking a step back. It wasn't that she didn't like Nadir, if anything he seemed friendly compared to her Maestro, she just wanted to disappear. She wanted to see if they would resume their conversation before she had interrupted.

But Nadir had directed his conversation towards Christine.

"So what are you doing here then, Christine?"

"I'm here to sing."

"How old are you, Christine?"

"18."

"How long have you been taking lessons off Erik, Christine?"

"A week or two now." She looked to see Erik standing in the doorway, his eyes watching her. "So, um, is my lesson not on anymore?"

"Of course it is," he said harshly. "Once this idiot leaves my home, then we shall begin."

"We'll talk another time, then." Nadir said clasping her hand and squeezing it. Her eyes darted towards her maestro as she noticed his eyes lock in the joint hands and his fist clench.

"Um, sure." She replied, unwrapping her hand.

Once Nadir had left, Erik made his way over to the piano and played an opening chord. She was surprised however when Erik handed her a few sheets of music. Seeing her startled face, he explained.

"We will learn this, it is nothing hard and I think you are capable of doing it. You can audition again for the opera house and obviously get in. This also helps you to decide what genre of music you wish to pursue."

"Say too m'ami sospiri?" Christine hesitantly began the words of the title and heard Maestro sigh.

"Se tu m'ami sospiri." He corrected, his hands beginning to play the introduction. "We will ease into the words," he said, "I will correct them if you make a mistake."

"Wow, so I guess you speak Italian then?" She asked, her fingers gliding on the glossy surface of the grand piano.

"Yes." He clipped, his hands stopping.

Once she noticed him to have stopped, she glanced up and noticed his eyes staring at her through the mask. _I wonder what he hides._

"Do you speak any other languages?" She asked, suddenly intrigued about the man who seemed almost inhuman.

He hesitated before replying, "French, German and Spanish."

She was shocked and a little bit frightened. "And you speak all of them...fluently?"

"Obviously." He played a chord again and Christine swore she heard him chuckle. "We have to start this piece, Christine or it will set back our plans."

And although she could hear the strain on the higher notes, her voice had improved immensely in just a week! She would do this, she decided.

For her pappa.

* * *

"Hey, Chris!" Raoul shouted from her living room.

She froze in the doorway. "Raoul, how did you get in?"

She found him eating the last of her emergency ice cream and looking at her like a child that had been caught doing something bad. "Oh. Well I found the spare key under the mat outside. You should be careful someone doesn't get in...other than me of course."

_Spare key? She didn't know there was a spare key...especially under her mat._

"Oh well. You're here now," she responded cheerily, forgetting about the key. "And you've ate all my food." She added, poking his perfectly flat stomach.

"I was hungry!" He exclaimed, his lower lip turning to a pout.

"Goodness, Raoul. Are you a fat cradle snatcher now?" She laughed a real laugh and felt Raoul gaze at her.

Suddenly self conscious, she stopped. "What?" She asked her face flushing.

He leant forwards so that his lips were hovering over hers. "You're so beautiful." He whispered, his lips suddenly giving up restraint and fell down on hers.

Pulling away as soon as the kiss lost its tenderness and turned into want, Christine offered Raoul a drink, walking into the kitchen and pressing her hands against her cheek in an effort to cool them.

"So where have you been?" She heard him call.

"I've been to a lesson," she said warily as she walked back in and found him flicking through the channels.

"A lesson? That's great, Christine! Is it like extra lessons for English, or something?"

"Hmmm." She nodded slightly and sat down next to him. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him, right? And imagine if she told Raoul about her Maestro...she couldn't!

"Hey, you like this film don't you?" He asked as _the wizard of oz_ flickered on her television.

"Yeah, I do."


End file.
